


Te Émíe

by silver_fish



Series: Of Storm and Ash [11]
Category: A Saga of Light and Dark - T. J. Chamberlain, Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Nerissa has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Oblivious Nerissa, Of Shadow and Flame, Pining, Tutoring, canon compliant other than relationships, language learning, when ur in love and dont even realize it...girl get a hint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: Nerissa just wanted to learn Ipasian. It's notherfault Emmet's teaching leaves something to be desired.
Relationships: Emmet Pomlei/Nerissa Smith
Series: Of Storm and Ash [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634857
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Te Émíe

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> this was half an excuse to really dig into the linguistic roots of the ipasian language and half an excuse to write my bad non-canon het oc ship. whatever it is, i had fun so. yeah. osa/oes spoilers but enjoy!

He probably only says yes because he feels bad for her.

Maybe five months ago, this would have annoyed her. She would have told him off because she didn’t want his _pity_ or anything else, for that matter, but, now, she figures it just isn’t worth addressing. They _all_ feel bad for her—even Poseidon, who is still a bit angry that she went behind his back. It might be infuriating at times, but she’s come to understand that there isn’t a lot she can do about it.

But she _can_ use it to her advantage.

She’s still, on Ada’s strict orders, not allowed to train. Which is fine by her, really; she’s tired _all_ the time, and, anyway, it’s not like they’re going to be attacked here. Even if they were, she apparently has godly powers now, or something. That seems like enough to stop any battle, as far as she’s concerned.

So, until she’s allowed to do more than walk and eat and sleep, it only makes sense that she would try to find something to pass the time.

Which is where Emmet comes in.

Nerissa’s always wanted to learn Kaltines. It just makes _sense_. So many historical texts are written in Kaltines, and, increasingly, she finds herself more and more wound up in what’s recorded in them. But she can't learn it—she’s tried, even; it’s just so _difficult_.

Emmet can’t teach her Kaltines, but he _does_ know an ancient language. It’s something she’s been impressed by ever since she met him—and his mother, too. They’re both fluent in a language that maybe only one in ten million can even count to ten in anymore. It’s not Kaltines, no—but it’s nearly just as good, as far as she’s concerned.

And she _does_ know about Ipasia. They worshipped the angel Ares before he was ever an “angel.” A war god, he oversaw their society and wove their destinies. Or something like that, at least. Admittedly, she was never as interested in it as Enfalla or Ikosia, where her own cultural roots are.

Since she met Emmet, though, she’s learned more and more. And it’s not as if she ever wants to _stop_ learning. So…she has all this time, and he feels bad for her, and so she asks if he’ll teach her Ipasian.

And he says _yes_.

It shocks everyone except for Nerissa, because she has sort of come to see that, her death and rebirth aside, Emmet has a hard time saying no to her at all. It’s not really anything she does—after all, he is no different in her eyes than Ada or Poseidon or any of their other companions, and the reverse is certainly true of him—but for some reason, he has a lot more difficult of a time refusing her things when she asks compared to the others. The only other person he yields to so often is Isobel, and that makes perfect sense: in Ipasian culture, parents are the foremost mentors of their children. If one needs advice, or help, or anything, it is only natural he ask his mother. In return, he really ought to do whatever his mother asks him to.

But Nerissa is just his _friend_ , so there’s really no good explanation for it. Maybe he’s felt sorry for her all this time. Really, her life has just been one big series of misfortune since they met. She’s as aware of it as he probably is. He’s been there for nearly all of it.

Emerson lets them monopolize the kitchen table during the day, so long as they clean it in time for dinner. It is oddly reminiscent of being home in Derayn with her brother and mother, while Poseidon would sit at one end of the table with his sketchbook and Nerissa at the other with her research. Or whenever Adrienne would be teaching Poseidon, and Nerissa would be there but only to watch, never to help, because Poseidon always got irritated if she told him what to do.

Well, she can’t really help it that she’s smart, can she? But she never did help with his homeschooling.

But Poseidon is not the one sitting at the table with her now and, of course, Adrienne isn’t here anymore. It’s Emmet, eyeing the stack of papers Emerson offered them earlier with obvious discomfort.

“You were homeschooled too, weren’t you?” Nerissa asks, holding her chin in her hands, elbows proposed up against the table.

“Uh, I guess.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “Didn’t you go to university, though?”

“Not technically, no. It was basically private tutoring. Or, like…an unpaid internship, maybe. I helped with his research a lot and in exchange he taught me what he knew.” _Not everything, though_ , she can’t help thinking, a little bitterly.

“Huh. You know my mom taught me all this, right? Like, I grew up speaking it, but she…I don’t know. She gets it more than I ever will. Like, uh…the details or whatever.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I just mean, you could’ve asked _her_. She’d be ecstatic if you asked her, even.”

Her lips twitch at that. “You’re not backing out, are you? Come on, it can’t be _that_ bad. It’s just basics.”

For a moment, he looks like he might argue, but then he deflates. “Yeah, I guess. All right, so…” He reaches over and grabs a sheet of paper off the pile, taking up the pen on his right side. “There must be some words you know, right? Like…hello? Yes? No? Well, no is the same, so that’s not really…”

She lifts her head and folds her arms over the table, watching his very seriously. “I don’t know anything. Seriously. It’s not really an academic language, and you and your mom are the only people I’ve _ever_ met who can speak it.”

He looks oddly irritated by this, which, for some reason, makes her smile widen.

“How do you say hello, then?” she offers. “That seems simple enough.”

“ _Élo_ ,” he says. “But that’s, like, just one way, so—”

“Write it down,” she interrupts. “So I don’t forget.”

This earns her glare, but he clicks the pen and writes it down. His handwriting is really a lot nicer than hers, she can’t help thinking. She’s never seen him write anything before, but he seems to do so with a sort of uncharacteristic grace. That, or he’s trying really hard, but Nerissa isn’t sure if he tries really hard at _anything_.

“That’s, like, the standard greeting. You know, between friends and stuff?” He writes something else, then turns the paper around for her to see. “That’s more like, uh…good day, I guess. Technically.”

 _Bíono dío_ , he’s written, but just as she opens her mouth to say it, she realizes she has no idea _how_.

“You suck at this,” she complains. “What sort of sounds do these even make?”

“Well, I _told_ you—”

“Yeah, but you’re barely even _trying_ —”

“I am so!” He sets the pen down, huffing. “If you’d just let me _talk_ , maybe I could help you. Listen, it’s like— _bíono dío_. Make sense?”

She chews at her bottom lip, uncertain. “Well, I guess, but aren’t there, like, _rules_ or something—?”

“Well, _yeah_ , but…” He stops, pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re just gonna have to trust me or we’ll be here ‘til tomorrow morning while I try to teach you how to say _hi_ to someone. It’s not like you can learn it all in one day. I mean, there are still things I don’t know, and I’ve been speaking it my whole life. I know you’re like…well, you wanna just _learn_ , but it takes time. So don’t rush it, yeah?”

“I know that!” she protests. “I’m just _saying_ , you’re not a good teacher.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re such a good student?”

“Well, _yeah_.” What a stupid comeback, _honestly_!

He stares at her for a moment, as if he expects her to take it back or something, then drops his gaze and grabs a new sheet of paper. “Okay, then,” he says. “We’ll do greetings and stuff first. That makes sense, right?”

She nods.

“Good. So…” He makes two columns on the paper, then begins writing words down one side of it. Then, he starts at the top again and begins writing the Evipakasian equivalents on the other side. That done, he sets this sheet on top of the earlier one and looks up at her again. “I know it seems like a lot, but you’ll get it really fast. I don’t know enough about all that…about phonetics and shit, but just repeat after me. You’ll figure it out. All right?”

Though she isn’t sure if it’s really such a good system, she agrees. Obviously, he doesn’t want her input on how he should be teaching, and she hardly wants to drive him away before she’s learned _anything_.

They spend the better part of the next half hour going over the vocabulary list he’s drawn up for her. From “good morning” to “how are you?” she learns what feels like a million different ways to talk to someone for the first time. But when he tells her to flip the page over and says, “ _Élo. Cómm éstíulo?_ ” she can’t seem to remember any of it.

After a pregnant pause, he sighs. “Well, that’s all right. You look like you’re getting a little tired, anyway. Maybe we should stop?”

She _feels_ tired, but she shakes her head. “I’m fine, seriously.”

“I don’t think you are.” He frowns. “You know, we’re just trying to look out for you, right? You went through something pretty crazy. It’s fine that you need to rest.”

“I _don’t_ ,” she insists. “I just—I _am_ fine, really. I don’t want to…”

“But you need to,” he points out. “And I’m not gonna face Ada’s wrath just ‘cause you didn’t _want_ to get some well-needed sleep. Seriously, Nerissa. It’ll be here after dinner if you’re still wanting to try. Or tomorrow, even.”

“But—”

“You’re _sick_. Anyway, if you get some rest now, maybe I can think about all this shit and come up with a way to actually teach you, I don’t know. But you need to sleep, so. That’s that. Come on, then.”

She isn’t given any time to protest before he’s on his feet, a hand wrapping around her upper arm and hoisting her up with him. She stumbles slightly, then sways as her vision starts briefly fades to black. Blindly, she reaches for something to steady her, but Emmet is already there, his other hand at her waist to keep her from falling.

“See?” he murmurs, and when she blinks and looks up at him, he is so close that her nose nearly brushes against his lips. “I _told_ you you’re too tired for this.”

“I’m not…”

“Oh, shut up.” But his tone is light, teasing. “You hold the whole sky up and then suddenly you think you can do anything. Nobody’s _that_ good, though. A little rest goes a long way, apparently.”

Leaving no room for argument, he leads her out of the kitchen and down the hall to the room she’s been staying in. She’s the only one not sharing a room here, ever since she woke up after her little stunt in Tragidoù Forest. She wishes, a bit, that she could go back to sharing with Poseidon, but she’s been sleeping a _lot_. And waking at strange hours, too, sometimes, her shoulders aching and her head filled with impenetrable fog.

Once they get to her room, he drops his hold on her and watches expectantly. For a moment, she can do nothing but stare back at him, but then she shakes herself and steps through the open door.

She glances back at him, hesitant. “Uh, thanks. For… I mean—yeah.”

He snorts. “Anytime. And, Nerissa?”

“What?”

“ _Díurmíe bíon._ _Te émíe_.”

She blinks, then scowls at him. “That’s not even fair!”

But he’s already turning around, snickering, one hand over his shoulder to wave her good “night.”

Briefly, she considers going after him, but she has grown quite weary. And it’s true enough that Ada wouldn’t want her up wandering around if she can barely keep herself standing. She doesn’t like it, no, but she hardly has any other choice than to enter her room, close the door behind her, and get into bed to rest.

*

She wakes well after dinner, but when she emerges from her room, eyes heavy and hurting, she meets Emerson just outside the kitchen.

“We saved you supper,” she says, offering a smile. “It’s on the table. Emmet and Ada are there now, if you—”

“Yeah, thanks,” she says quickly. “I appreciate it. Where are—?”

“Gone to bed.” She watches Nerissa for a moment, as if expecting a reaction to this, then adds, “I was just going to do the same, but have something to eat. You really could use the extra weight.”

It’s a light remark, not meant to upset her, but Nerissa can’t help flushing under her aunt’s gaze. “Y-yeah, I guess so. Good night, Emerson.”

One of those awkward pauses, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t know how, and then she nods. “Good night, Nerissa.”

Stepping aside so Emerson can get down the hall, Nerissa lets out a short sigh. Even though she has obviously slept for a considerable amount of time, exhaustion still tugs at her bones. Her magic, rather. _Stupid Chaos…_

She puts a hand against the wall as she makes her way into the kitchen, moving much slower than she thinks is _really_ necessary, all things considered. With a deep, steeling breath, she drops her hold on the wall. Emmet and Ada look up from the table at her, in respective amusement and concern, as she makes the painstaking journey from the entrance of the kitchen to the table. That whole _ten metres_.

Emmet pulls out the chair beside him for her and she sinks into it gratefully as Ada reaches over to grab a tinfoil-covered plate.

“It might be a little cold now,” she says apologetically, setting it in front of Nerissa. “We didn’t want to wake you. Emmet said you were probably up too long already today.”

She shoots him an annoyed look, but it is mild compared to the glare Nerissa sends his way.

“Did he, now,” she grits out. “Well, I’m _fine_ , thank you very much.” Then, lowering her gaze to the food they’ve saved for her, she mutters, “And thank you.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Ada.” Emmet waves a lazy hand in front of him, like that _means_ anything. “She’s so fucking grouchy. That means she needs more sleep, right?”

“Ugh, don’t even.” She shoves him lightly before moving to remove the foil over her dinner. “I think I’ve slept enough to last a lifetime, actually. And that’s not even including the whole magical coma thing or whatever, because I don’t _remember_ that. It’s just—the past _week_.”

“It’s good for you,” Ada reminds her. “You need to regain your energy and sleep is the best way your body knows how to do it. And food,” she adds. “So eat up. I heard what Emerson said to you. She’s right. You’re way too thin, and you just keep _losing_ weight. I know you’re still adjusting, but just because you have wings now doesn’t mean you can abuse your body like that.”

And now _Nerissa’s_ getting her look, as if this is _her_ fault!

She takes the fork that’s been left on the plate for her and stabs into the portion of meat she’s been given. Chicken, maybe, but they eat weird things here. Maybe it’s duck. She’s found they sort of taste the same, anyway.

“Don’t look so mad,” Ada says. “It’s not going to last forever, I swear. Anyway, um—how did you sleep?”

“Fine.” She drops the fork with a sigh, suddenly feeling a little queasy.

“Doesn’t sound fine to me,” Emmet remarks.

She runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “It _is_ , it’s just…”

“Talking about it will help,” Ada says quietly. “It’s hard to get rest when you’re having nightmares too, but…if you talk about them, it’ll help.”

“Well, it’s not helping so far, is it?” she snaps. “What’s the point? Why would I want to—to _talk_ about that, as if it’s—it’s—as if it wasn’t bad enough to _dream_ it in the first place!”

Ada’s eyes glint under the kitchen light. “I…I know, but—”

“You don’t know!” If she weren’t so _tired_ , she would stand up to prove her point, too, but as it is, the best she can do is push the plate in front of her away. “How could you possibly _know_?”

“I get that it’s hard—"

“I don’t think you do!”

“Oh, come off it,” says Emmet, rolling his eyes. “You don’t get to act all misunderstood. Nobody’s saying that it’s a bad thing if you’re a little messed up. Ada’s just trying to help.”

He sounds so calm, so certain, it wipes the anger out of her system in an instant.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he goes on. “While you were sleeping, we did some brainstorming, see, so I think I know a better way to approach this whole Ipasian thing. Ada helped,” he adds. “A _lot_. Who knew she knew so much about teaching?”

Ada gives a shaky laugh. “Well, I don’t know much about teaching, really. I just know a lot about Nerissa.”

“Well, either way.” He shrugs. “I think it’ll help. You just have to let me actually _try_ it.”

Nerissa frowns down at her food. On the other side of the plate from the chicken or duck or whatever it is there’s a pile of mushy green beans. She lifts her fork and pokes at them morosely before finally saying, “Maybe I’m just not cut out for it. I could never learn Kaltines, either.”

“Sure, with that attitude.” When she glances up at him, he’s grinning. “But it’s not Kaltines, is it? And we’ve got the time to figure it out. If you want to learn, the worst you can do is try.”

Twelve hours ago, she probably would have agreed, but right now her stomach is in knots and she can’t quite hold his gaze.

“I guess,” is all she says.

A beat passes, and then Emmet says, “If you wanna go to bed, you can.”

Nerissa doesn’t look up; she knows he’s talking to Ada, but she doesn’t miss the unspoken words between them, either. Like Nerissa needs a _keeper_.

“Y-yeah, maybe.” As if to prove his point, Ada yawns. “I’ll see you guys in the morning?”

“For sure. Night, Ada.”

Nerissa hears her chair scrape against the floor, gentle footsteps. “Good night.”

And then she is gone.

“That’s not gonna do you much good if you don’t eat it.”

Unbidden, Nerissa’s eyes begin to sting and blur. She blinks hard, unable to look at him or even speak.

“Maybe Ada’s got a point.” His voice is lower, the mirth dissolved from it entirely. “About talking or whatever, I mean. Do you even know how weird it is to see you so down all the time?”

She sniffles. “I’m n-not.”

“Yeah, you are.” Suddenly, there’s a gentle pressure above her hand. He wraps his fingers around her wrist and guides her fork to the vegetables on her plate. “Not saying it’s a bad thing, but it sucks to see you struggling so much. Just eat a bit at least, would you?”

When he drops his hold on her, a chill seems to run from her fingers all the way up to her chest. Once it passes, she swallows back her tears and nods, taking up a forkful of food under his watchful gaze.

There is some part of her that thinks she has been in this position before, just...reversed. It’s not quite the same, though, as any time she ever would have had to encourage Poseidon to eat or sleep or anything else he didn’t want to do. She isn’t a kid, after all, and Emmet…

Well, he’s taking care of her, maybe, but it’s different. Different even from Ada, with her strict directives and her constant urging for Nerissa to _talk_ or whatever.

She doesn’t eat all the food they’ve saved for her, but he doesn’t seem to expect her to. He takes the plate from her and sets it on the far end of the table, then turns to her with questioning eyes.

She sighs, dropping her gaze down to her lap. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to.”

“But you want me to.”

He leans forward and grabs one of her hands, holding it up and intertwining their fingers. When she lifts her head to look at him, he quirks his lips at her.

“I want whatever’s gonna help you,” he says. “So just tell me what you need, and we’ll do it.”

His eyes are all brown determination, blazing and fierce. As she looks at him, her breath hitches, and all at once the disconnected images of her dreams come back to her. The muffled words, the sounds of falling rain and a storm she cannot chase away. The roaring of the Sea, her brother beneath it, too far for her to reach…

Suddenly, there are gentle fingers against her cheek, his thumb wiping away the small amount of moisture that has slipped from her eye.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “I won’t leave you here, you know.”

She swallows thickly. “I…I know.”

“It’s fine if you’re not doing so great,” he goes on. “I know I’m not Ada. Or even a very good listener at all, really, but—y’know, I _can_ listen.”

“Isn’t it—isn’t it more your style to tell me when I’m being an idiot?”

He laughs, pulling back slightly. His hand stays clutching hers even as the other drops back down the surface of the table.

“Well, I can do that too,” he says. “But you’re not being one now, for the record.”

Isn’t she, though?

“But I know you’re not much of a talker, either, so…that’s all right too.” He shrugs. “If you just need to be cheered up, then we can figure that out too, right?”

He’s so _genuine_. It reminds her, again, of how different everyone has been acting since she woke up.

“I’m still the same as I was,” she reminds him feebly. “I’m not—I’m not going to _break_.”

Her hand has grown sweaty in his, but, if he notices, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I never thought you would.”

And when he says it, she thinks she might even be able to believe it.

“So?” he presses. “What do you want?”

 _Want_. Not _need_.

All her life has been about _surviving_. Of course there are things she wants, things she _has_ wanted. Even when it was dangerous, she supposes she did get some of those things. Her time at the University of Derayn with Ryes, any time they managed to convince Adrienne to take them out to the market, all the family dinners and desserts and time to just sit around and enjoy one another’s company.

There is probably nothing she wants more now than that, but when she did have it, she never really saw it that way. Oh, she loved her brother and mother, but she often felt that their company was not enough for her. She yearned to have _peers_. People who cared about her studies because they were interesting and not simply because they were obligated to. People who shared her interests, maybe.

Ada and Emmet are the closest she’s ever gotten to that, but she isn’t sure if the gain has been worth the loss.

“I don’t think you can give me what I want,” she admits quietly, averting her gaze. In the low light of the room, she can barely even see the clock fixed to the wall ahead of her. “Nobody can.”

“Then, think of something else.” Like it’s so _simple_. “Something you want for a reason other than that you don’t have it anymore.”

She almost laughs, but it’s really not very funny.

“I don’t know what that is,” she says.

“Well, that’s all right. That’s why I said I’d teach you Ipasian, you know.”

She glances over at him, but moves her gaze back hastily before it can meet it his. Her throat feels very tight. “Is it?”

“Sure. You wouldn’t’ve asked if it wasn’t something you actually wanted, right?”

“I… Yeah, I guess.”

“So, there you go. Something you want that’s totally achievable.”

She closes her eyes, wishing they would stop stinging so badly. “But I don’t know if…”

“You think that now,” he says firmly. “Tomorrow might be different. You just—what? You feel like you can’t be happy, ‘cause people died?”

Her shoulders hunch up against his words, but it doesn’t stop them from piercing through her skin. It’s not as if she thinks she can’t be _happy_ , but…there must be some sort of recompense. Something, anything—to give back to her mother, to make up for the blood on her hands, to ensure Poseidon will never be in danger like that again.

“But, Nerissa, what about your _own_ life?”

Minutely, she shakes her head. It doesn’t stop him:

“Chaos thought _you_ were worthy, didn’t it? Karsei told us—only the worthy. _You’re_ worthy. It means that Chaos thinks you deserve to be alive. And _really_ alive, I mean. But—even if it _didn’t_ think so, then who cares? You deserve to be alive ‘cause you _are_ alive. You decided months ago, didn’t you? That there was no point in being alive if you couldn’t even live?”

“I’m sick of it,” she gasps, eyes flying open as she whirls to face him again. She tries to pull her hand away, but he holds fast.

“Sick of what? Living?”

“Yes!” She looks up at him, breathing hard. “What’s the point if it’s so hard all the time? What’s the—what’s the point in learning a new language if I never live long enough to use it? Or if while I’m trying to enjoy what I have, other people are dying because _I_ wasn’t there—”

“You can’t always be there,” he cuts in calmly. “You can’t save everyone.”

“I never wanted to! I just wanted my _family_.”

“You can’t always save them, either.” He holds her gaze steadily, certainly. “Your life matters too. So who cares if you never get a chance to use what you learn? Or if you wind up having to choose between two things sometimes? I’ll still be here when you’re done saving the world and shit, and even if you annoy the fuck out of me, I’ll still teach you.”

She ducks her head, but then his other hand is at her chin, lifting it up again.

“Just tell me what you’re thinking,” he says. “It’s not gonna upset me.”

Her vision blurs. “You—you can’t promise that,” she whispers. “That you’ll be here.”

“Oh. He pauses for a second, as if thinking. “Well, I’m promising anyway. Besides, I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t even _want_ you to. Protect yourself first.”

It’s just like the vow he made her take, all those weeks ago. As the thought comes to her, she finds her chest filling with guilt.

 _You promised you wouldn’t_.

“I broke your trust,” she mutters. “All of you. I don’t know why you don’t just—”

“Leave you?” He smiles wryly. “Now you really _are_ being an idiot. I won’t say you _didn’t_ break our trust, but...honestly, Nerissa, it’s our fault too. We should’ve noticed.”

She bites her lip, hard. “What...what could you have possibly noticed?”

“Any of it?” He frowns. “I mean, from the time Poseidon woke up in the infirmary—”

“Don’t.” The taste of blood fills her mouth. “Don’t, please don’t—”

“Sorry.” He tightens his hold on her chin so she can’t drop her head again. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“I—I know.”

The pressure of his fingers loosens. “I’m just saying, we should have noticed and we should have stopped you, but we didn’t. Obviously you made the choice, but...it’s not like _this_ is your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s not.” He drops his hand and pulls back slightly, considering her. “So, what do you think? What do you want?”

What _does_ she want?

She swallows thickly. “Just...just don’t go.”

His lips turn up a bit. “Well, I would’ve done that whether you wanted it or not, you know.”

She laughs, but it comes out weak, a pain in her chest. “Then—then teach me. I want to learn.”

Now, he really does smile. “See? Didn’t I tell you so? Here, we’ve been brainstorming since you went to sleep. You’re good at memorizing things, so I asked my mom to help me write out all the conjugations and stuff.” He pulls a few pieces of paper toward him with his free hand, then flips them over and sets them in front of her. “We’ll use this verb first, _ástediar_.”

She looks down at the paper, trying to focus on the letters there. “What’s that mean?”

“Study. Or, the act of studying, I guess. Ugh. You know, I know next to nothing about all the terms and things. I’ve been speaking and writing since I was a kid.”

She glances up at him. “But your Evipakasian is perfect too.”

“Well, sure.” He shrugs. “If I only spoke Ipasian, I wouldn’t make it very far in life, would I? I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Oh...y-yeah, I guess. Sorry.”

His eyes sparkle in amusement. “Nothing to be sorry for. Wish I could teach you Enfallen or—what’s it? Ikosi, right?”

She nods.

“It’s too bad. But...for what it’s worth, I think it’s cool that you’re interested in our culture too. And my mom, definitely. I think sometimes she wishes I were a little more like you. I was never very interested in it, as a kid.”

“Why not?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. Maybe I resented her a little bit, because of my dad. I’m sure my grandparents weren’t happy I was mixed.”

Her eyes drop down the paper again, but she’s not really reading anything there. “Your mom’s not mixed?”

“Sounds pretty crazy, right?” From the tone of his voice, she can tell he’s grinning. “But no, she’s not. Turns out Evipakasians aren’t the only ones who can keep a pure bloodline or whatever.” The mirth in his voice has dripped into deep disgust. “But it’s not like we ever thought we were superior to them. My mom’s family just married other Ipasians because they wanted to stay connected to Ipasia somehow. If the Evipakasians took everything else away from them, they at least wanted to keep this, I guess.”

“So, your dad…”

“Was Evipakasian, yeah. It’s not like they ever got married, though. I was a mistake, that’s all.”

Nerissa pushes the paper aside and looks up at him again. “Pretty good mistake, then, I think.”

He laughs. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, y’know. It doesn’t bother me, though, if _that’s_ what you’re thinking. I don’t think my mom cares that I’m mixed. I always sorta got the feeling she never wanted to get married anyway.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “But her culture’s important to her, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but...I grew up Ipasian. If Evipakasians even have a culture aside from, like, racial supremacy, I definitely don’t feel very attached to it. If me or my mom thought only full-blood Ipasians could be a part of the culture, we wouldn’t exactly be trying to teach you the language.”

Well, that made sense. It’s not like Ipasia had been a very exclusive place, even before it was colonized.

Nerissa’s always sort of envied Emmet for his connection to his cultural roots. She _would_ love to speak Enfallen or Ikosi, but those languages really _have_ been lost to time. If any speakers still remain, Nerissa will surely never meet them, not amongst billions of other people in the world.

Maybe a part of her hoped that Emerson would know more before they came here. Maybe, just a little, she hoped that, if she did, it would be enough to get a little piece of her father back.

But that isn’t the case, of course. There are numerous family heirlooms strewn about the house, relics from her grandparents and _their_ grandparents, maybe. This house itself has stood for generations—but too many generations have passed since any of their ancestors knew more about their heritage than what it was.

Even that, too, could be false. It’s an estimation, but intermarriage has been so common in the past millennium, it would be impossible to say for certain. Aside from families like the Pomleis, the only other lineage that’s been consistent since before the rise of the Kaltanese Empire are the nobles—and they’re all Evipakasian.

But there’s a warmness in her chest, planted there by Emmet’s words. No, she is not Ipasian. She has never known where her roots were planted, if they ever even were. Even here, in Hathet, she does not feel she belongs.

Emmet is smiling at her, though. He and his mother have worked on these silly sheets for hours while she slept, just to make _her_ happy. To help her feel like she belongs somewhere.

Of course he won’t leave. He would never even consider it.

She doesn’t realize her tears are falling until he moves forward to brush them away.

“I already told you it doesn’t bother me,” he jokes. “Just ‘cause I’m not crying about it doesn’t mean _you_ have to.”

She chokes on a laugh, leaning closer into his touch. His hand moves from her cheekbone, across her face, and tangles in her hair. Warm with his touch, she rests her head against his chest, feeling her breaths measure up with his.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he murmurs. “ _No te aboníe, Nerissa. Te émíe_.”

This time, she just smiles. Maybe someday, she _will_ understand. For now, it’s enough to know that he won’t go anywhere until she does.

*

It’s true that he gets a little better at teaching as the time goes on, but he sometimes still proves a frustrating instructor. He seems to forget that the sounds that he has been familiar with since birth are foreign on her tongue, and then grows irritated when she points it out.

“It’s not even _that_ hard,” he complains. “ _Í_. Don’t you hear it?”

Well, _yeah_ , but that doesn’t mean she can _say it_.

Sometimes, Isobel will sit with them and watch over in thinly masked amusement. She’ll step in and make corrections, too, with much more constructive criticism than Emmet offers. But even if she’s a better teacher, any time Emmet suggests that she would be just as happy to be teaching her, she shakes her head.

“I want you to teach me,” she insists. “Let’s try it again.”

All he does is shake his head fondly and helps her try it again. For all he complains, she sort of gets the feeling that he likes teaching her after all.

They don’t work every day, either. Sometimes she wakes up too exhausted, and he’ll tell her after breakfast to just go back to bed. Other times, she doesn’t really _wake_ at all, because she’s been up all night having awful dreams or just _thinking_ , and then he’ll just sit with her for a while and wait for her to talk—or not, because he’s always saying he doesn’t mind if she has nothing to say.

She _is_ able to answer when he catches her by surprise at dinner with a “ _Cómm éstíulo?_ ” now, though, so they decide together that that’s _progress_.

The others seem to understand, too, that this is sort of “their thing,” now. Aside from Isobel, nobody ever interrupts their “lessons” unless it’s time to eat and they’re taking up the entire table. Sometimes, they work in her room instead, though not as often. The few times they have, Nerissa wound up falling asleep before either of them could ever even consider stopping for the day.

She doesn’t really know what he did those times, but when she woke next, she was in her bed, alone. But he always stays up for her, at the kitchen table, if she misses dinner. Sometimes Ada waits with him, but it’s always Emmet who pushes the plate of food her way and says something like, “ _Nesitas comaner si disas estiar sánto de níuvé_ ,” and she can’t even be annoyed about what he’s saying when she’s so ecstatic that she actually _understood_ it.

He’s been saying things like this often. She comes to learn that _díurmíe bíon_ means “sleep well,” but there is one thing, still, that he has not taught her—that, every time she asks, he says they’ll cover it another time:

 _Te émíe_.

It drives her _crazy_ , but if there’s anybody with the ability to out-stubborn her, it’s Emmet. And he’s so good at distracting her; often, she’ll ask about it only for him to deflect with something else and then, later, she’ll be fuming because he avoided her question _again_.

He says it all the time, though. And even though she thinks she _might_ understand how it’s conjugated, she has no idea what it actually _means_. She asks Ada, once, and she says, “You’re kidding, right? I’ve known Emmet for nearly four years and I _still_ have no idea what he’s saying.”

Poseidon, for his part, informs her that “It’s pretty obvious, but I don’t think I should be the one to tell you.”

She still can’t decide if he said so because he actually _didn’t_ know, or because he’s still mad with her about...well. Everything, really. Maybe there’s some hidden third option she just can’t figure out for herself.

Her other resources exhausted, she figures she’ll just need to swallow her pride and do what she really ought to have done all along.

Since she’s still too exhausted to go on long outings, she usually stays behind with Isobel and Avery while the others run the necessary errands. Avery says she’s there to watch her, but, according to Isobel, they just both really despise grocery shopping.

Either way, it works out in Nerissa’s favour today, so she certainly won’t be making any complaints.

They all eat lunch together before Emerson takes the others out, leaving the job of cleaning up to the three of them. Nerissa carries the plates to the sink, where Isobel wordlessly takes them and begins washing. Behind them, Avery is collecting things off the table and counters, putting them back in the appropriate cupboards.

Nerissa watches Isobel for a long moment, heart pounding fast, and then—

“Is there something on my face?” she asks, amused, turning to pass the first plate to Nerissa so she can dry it off.

Accepting it, she averts her gaze, very aware of the redness on her cheeks. “No, sorry, I just…”

The sound of dishing cluttering against each other under the water is all that breaks the silence. Nerissa looks down at the plate and inhales deeply, lifting her hand to drag the remaining droplets of water off of it.

She sets the plate on the counter, staring at her reflection in it. Emerson’s right: she is _far_ too thin.

“Are you going to put that away?” comes Avery’s voice from behind, and she jumps. Whirling around, she sees the woman standing with her hands on her hips, eyebrow cocked in an expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

“Sorry,” she says again, turning and grabbing the plate. She passes it over wordlessly, only for Isobel to deposit another in her hand.

The cycle goes on for three more plates before she finally blurts out, “What does _te émíe_ mean?”

As she watches, Isobel slowly lowers her rag and current plate back into the sink. She glances over, face as impassive as ever.

“That’s a fairly simple one,” she says. “I am surprised Emmet hasn’t taught you.”

Nerissa sighs, leaning against the counter and looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “I keep asking him, but he won’t tell me.”

To her surprise, Isobel laughs. “Oh, yes, I suppose he would. The verb is _émiar_.” She passes over the plate and then begins washing the next one. “It means _love_.”

She furrows her eyebrows, thinking hard, but she is exhausted, her mind slow. “So...so then, _te émíe_ means…”

“‘I love you.’”

_Oh._

Before she even realizes it’s going, the plate has slipped from her hands and landed in front of her on the counter.

“Yes,” Isobel muses, “it is quite simple, isn’t it? I confess myself rather surprised he didn’t already teach it to you.”

Nerissa swallows hard to keep her heart from her throat. “And that’s...what? Just—love? Any sort of love?”

“Any sort of love,” she agrees. “But it _would_ seem a silly thing to conceal its meaning to a friend, if you really wanted her to know you cared for her.”

Nerissa blinks. Suddenly, there’s another plate under her nose, but she still has yet to even dry off the last.

“I do not believe Emmet is any better with feelings than you yourself are,” Isobel adds as she takes the dish. “I sincerely doubt he ever would have told you on his own.”

“So...so you think he just—didn’t want to…?”

Isobel hums in consideration while Nerissa finally brings herself to siphon the water off the two plates and pass them back to Avery. When she meets the other woman’s eyes, she looks like she’s trying hard not to laugh.

“I think,” Isobel says, “you should probably ask Emmet about that.”

She runs an anxious hand through her hair. “What am I supposed to say?”

“Well.” She pauses, thinking. “I suppose you could say _te émíe_ back. Or you could say _no te émíe_ , of course. Perhaps the best course would be how _you_ feel?”

But how _does_ she feel?

...Right now, a little lightheaded.

She grips the counter and closes her eyes, trying to push back the feeling, but it is no good; just before her wobbly legs give out, there is someone holding her up, an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Too much for today, I think,” Avery murmurs. “You need more rest.”

“I’m fine,” Nerissa protests, but then there is someone else at her other side, taking her weight from Avery.

“Thanks,” Avery says gratefully, stepping back. “Get to bed, Nerissa, I’ll finish cleaning up, and maybe we’ll see you at dinner.”

She forces her eyes open again, but groans and shuts them again as the lights from the kitchen seem to pierce through her head.

“Just follow me,” Isobel says quietly, as if she can even do anything _else_.

They make it to her room and Isobel guides her to the bed, helping her sit before loosening her hold on her and stepping back.

“You should know,” she says as Nerissa painstakingly lifts her legs up on the mattress, “that there is nothing more I want for my son than his happiness.”

Sluggishly, Nerissa turns to look at her. “I… Yes, I know that.”

“Yes, I don’t suppose it is others’ happiness you struggle to understand.” A pause, and then: “You should also know, then, Nerissa, that _your_ happiness is no less important. Whatever conclusion you reach, do not reject it simply because you fear that.”

Before Nerissa can even really comprehend her words, she is slipping out, turning the light off and easing the door shut behind her.

The last thing Nerissa thinks before she finally succumbs to her exhaustion is that her happiest moments, lately, have been the ones she has spent by Emmet’s side.

*

When she wakes, her head is pounding, but it is a welcome reprieve, she thinks, from nightmares. As she sits up, she is pleased to note that she remembers nothing but serene darkness.

The rest comes a little slower, but she finds that it is not really so shocking now. She turns it over in her head a few times, parsing out the various interpretations, but one thing remains quite consistent:

She really needs to talk to Emmet.

Whatever time it is, she has no idea, but she _thinks_ it’s still dark out. Usually, when the sun is out, she can sort of see the outline of light around the blinds, but now her room is completely dark. That would mean she missed dinner again, so…

So, if she goes out _now_ , Emmet’s probably already waiting for her.

That, by now, this is a given gives her only room for a slight pause. She’s never really thought about things like _love_ —even now, it doesn’t really leave her _thinking_ much.

Maybe it ought to. That’s the sort of person she is, after all. Logic has always been her friend. Well, it used to be, at least. Maybe rushing out to hold the Heavens on her shoulders wasn’t really her most _logical_ move, but…

This, at least, doesn’t feel like a _bad_ thing to be rushing into. If she’s even rushing into it at all. Going to him now feels a lot like how she imagines going home ought to feel.

It’s been a long time since she’s had a home to go to, hasn’t it?

She climbs out of bed and flicks on the light, then removes the clothes she was wearing all day to exchange them for the looser white shirt and pants she would have worn to bed. She feels more rested than she has in a while, despite the fatigue that sent her here in the first place.

On her way out, she turns the light off again and eases the door shut behind her. She is the only one around as she pads through the hall, but when she turns into the kitchen, he’s already there. She wonders, not for the first time, when he gets his own sleep in if he is always here for her when she rises at these more obscure hours of the night.

He looks up as she enters, lips twitching slightly.

“What’s it this time?” he asks. “Eleven hours?”

She shakes her head, taking the seat beside him. “I stopped counting a while ago. What’s dinner?”

His eyes shine at this, as if just her having a small interest in food is enough to make him happy. “Fried rice. Nothing too fancy, sorry.”

“When have I ever complained about things not being fancy enough?” She can’t quite help smiling, though, as she reaches for the bowl. “Thanks for saving it.”

“You seem to be in a good mood tonight,” he remarks.

“As opposed to being in a bad mood every other night?”

“I’d say more like ninety-ten, but yeah.”

She laughs, but elects to take the wrapping off her meal instead of responding. She’s always sort of appreciated his honesty, even when it _can_ be a bit brutal. They’re similar like that, she thinks. He’ll never mince words for her comfort—or anyone’s, really.

“Really, though,” he says once she has started eating. “You slept well, I take it?”

She chews and swallows, then glances over at him. “Crazy, right? I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“My mom said you seemed pretty exhausted.”

Nerissa quickly turns her gaze back to her dinner. “Yeah?”

“Glad you’re not fainting anymore, at least.”

“Honestly, it was pretty close.”

He shrugs. “Still an improvement. I don’t think any of us expected this to be easy for you.”

“It hasn’t been,” she allows. “You’ve helped a lot, though.”

“Well, we _do_ want you to get better, y’know.”

She sets her fork down and turns to face him again. “No. I mean _you_.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve helped a lot,” she says firmly. “Seriously, I don’t even know when you get any sleep. You’re always here, and then during the day you’re teaching me. Which is probably pretty boring for you, I mean, so—”

“It’s not boring.” But he isn’t looking at her anymore.

“You already know everything. I don’t imagine it’s really ao thrilling to go over it a hundred times with me.”

“It’s not, really.”

“See? I was just saying—”

“But,” he says, “I never would have agreed to it if I didn’t enjoy all that time I spend with you.”

She stops, blinking.

“Plus, I really don’t mind teaching you.” He turns, now, to shoot her a grin. “You don’t always make it _fun_ , sure, but it’s cool that you’re so interested. I don’t know if I’ve ever cared about my culture so much as when you’re making me tell you everything about it.”

“You… What?”

“I’m sorry that you couldn’t find your own connection.” His smile falls away. “I never realized before I met you how much I take for granted. But, y’know...wherever you wind up, I know you’ll keep the things you learned from me with you. Even if you never become integrated into it the way me and my mom are...well, I get now why culture matters so much to people like you and my mom. And I guess what I’m saying is that I want it to matter to me too.”

That warm feeling in her chest seems to spread all through her. It’s a pleasant feeling that has her lips turning up until her cheeks begin to hurt.

He’s laughing at her now, though. “Don’t take that to mean I want your long history lectures all the time, ‘cause I definitely don’t.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” she promises. “Just...thanks. I don’t really know...or I don’t think I can explain, exactly, but I do—I mean, I appreciate it. That’s all.”

It’s a little dark, but she doesn’t really think she imagines the colour on his cheeks. He’s not scowling at her, though, so that’s a good sign.

“You don’t need to explain,” he mutters. “I’d understand whether you said it or not.”

And she thinks he really might.

“You should finish eating,” he says, a little louder. “And then get some more sleep so you’ll be up in time for breakfast.”

She looks back down at her food, stomach clenching. “All about food with you, huh?” she jokes faintly.

“It’s important if—”

“I want to get better, yeah.” She sighs. “I don’t think I can finish this, though.”

He peers around to look at how much she _did_ eat, then nods. “All right. No, don’t worry, I’ll take it for you.”

All she can really do is let him, so she moves her hands back again and holds them up in defeat. She stays seated, watching him, as he picks it up and scrapes what’s left over into the compost bin. Another couple minutes has it all washed and put away. Finally, he comes back to her and holds a hand out to help her out.

“I’m not _completely_ useless, you know,” but she accepts his hand anyway. Everywhere his skin meets hers is warm, welcoming, sending pleasant sparks all the way from her hand to her chest.

Has it always been like this?

“I don’t think you’re useless at all,” he says easily, hoisting her to her feet.

“Well, I am a little.”

He shakes his head. “Never. Sometimes I think you try to make yourself a little _too_ useful, honestly.”

Even as they begin to walk away from the table, their hands stay intertwined. He doesn’t try to pull away, but Nerissa thinks that if he did, she might just keep holding on regardless.

The walk is short, though. Within seconds, they’re in front of Nerissa’s door. All she can do is drop her hold on him, even as cold sweeps over her palm, to her chest, at his absence.

“Think you can sleep all right?”

There is a part of her that wants to say no, just so he’ll stay, but she nods.

“Cool. Then, see you in the morning, hopefully.” He’s already turning to walk away. “Night, Nerissa.”

Her heart seems to catch in her throat. “W-wait, Emmet.”

He pauses and glances over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“Um…” She swallows, training her gaze on a spot at the wall beside him. Isobel told her what to say, didn’t she? But her tongue is heavy in her mouth, dry with the words she can’t bring herself to speak…

“Are you okay?”

She sucks in a deep breath. She held the whole fucking sky on her shoulders, she reminds herself. _You can do this_.

“Nerissa?”

 _You can do this_.

“ _D-díurmíe bíon_ ,” she stammers _._ “ _Te émíe_.”

Even though she’s not looking at him, she _sees_ the way he stiffens. Embarrassment floods through her, dropping her eyelids closed, and she goes to reach for the doorknob to make her escape, but—

Her eye flies open, breath catching, as fingers wrap around her wrist.

With a fiercely pounding heart, she looks up at him. His eyes are darkened by the night—or is it something else? She can’t tell, couldn’t even _hope_ to be able to decipher the look on his face…

Finally, he asks, “Do you even know what that _means_?”

She splutters. “Are you kidding me? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No!” He grips her tighter, but even as a small squeak slips out from between her lips, he doesn’t seem to notice. “Look, I just—I know you’re some kinda genius or something, but that’s just _freaky_ —”

“Oh, get off it.” She scoffs. “Your mom told me, dumbass. Because _you_ wouldn’t.”

He at least has the decency to look a bit embarrassed at this.

“Oh,” he says. “So you…”

She huffs, but can’t quite find it in herself to pull her arm back. “I can’t believe you said that! It’s not like I expected you to be some sexy romantic, but—”

The rest of her words are lost between them as he leans down and presses their lips together. For a moment, she can do nothing but stand, frozen, but it is so easy to get closer to him, to tilt her head just so, to kiss him _back_. His lips are softer than she expected—and when did she even spend time thinking about this?—and both his hands are gentle against her as the other comes to rest at her hip.

She pulls back first, eyes fluttering open again (when did she even close them?) to see him staring down at her, eyebrows drawn as if he’s looking at a complete stranger.

“What?” she demands. “I _know_ you’ve never kissed anyone before either, unless there’s something you and Ada haven’t told me—”

“That’s not it,” he says quickly, then pauses, horror contorting his expression. “Are you— _Ada_? Gross!”

“Well, then, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing! _You’re_ the one who moved away, aren’t you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, baffled.

He looks up, away from her. “Never mind. I just don’t—”

Never _mind_.

She twists their hands so that her grip is over his, then pushes closer to him again, forceful enough that he stumbles against the wall. When he lowers his head again, infuriated, she leans up to kiss him again, harder this time.

It makes a little more sense this time. He reacts faster than she did too, hand snaking around her back and holding her closer, closer, they are so _close_ …

She works hard to keep her eyes open now, locked with his, but—

She only has a moment to try to catch herself before her knees are buckling under her, a gasp bursting up from her throat. Emmet is already there, though, holding her up before she can hit the floor or something.

For a beat, neither of them speak.

And then she begins to laugh.

She can’t quite help it; the feeling starts in her chest, a bubble that has just been waiting to be popped, and then she is overwhelmed by it. She takes in a great, wheezing breath, but it really does nothing for her.

He looks amused as he drops her hand and tightens his grip around her waist. “Definitely time for bed,” he murmurs.

“What? No!” With great effort, she manages to sober herself. “I’m _fine_ , seriously, just—”

“Shut up,” he says.

“I don’t even _feel_ tired,” she goes on, ignoring him completely. “It’s just my stupid wings and stupid Chaos and—”

He reaches past her and opens up the door. It’s the only warning she gets before he’s—quite _literally_ —sweeping her off her feet.

“What the—!” Her voice catches; she is suddenly very close to his face, legs dangling helplessly over the crook of his elbow.

“You _are_ too thin,” he muses. “You barely weigh anything.

“Let me down!”

“Can’t, sorry.”

“I’m— Dammit, I’m an angel now! I’ll—I’ll smite you!”

He snorts, using his foot to push the door open all the way before stepping into her room.

“I’m serious!” His arms _are_ warm, though. Comfortable.

Safe.

“Oh, I’m so terrified,” he says dryly. “Please spare my soul, almighty angel.”

She’s given no time to even think of a response as he lowers her down onto her bed. There’s a brief pause, and then the mattress creaks slightly as he sits on the edge of it.

“How long did you know?” he asks after a moment.

She squints up at him. As much as she would like to sit up, her body refuses. Perhaps she _is_ more tired than she thought.

“I’m not gonna give you crap for not saying anything sooner.” He holds his hands up defensively. “I was just wondering.”

“Today,” she admits. “Or, yesterday, probably. I guess maybe I should’ve figured it out sooner, but…”

“Well, I kinda figured you wouldn’t guess it.” His lips twist up a bit. “I mean, it’s out there now, so...I love you, but you aren’t great at the whole _feelings_ thing.”

Are words like that _supposed_ to make it feel as if her chest is going to, like, _explode_?

“You’re not that great, either,” she protests. “I mean, _really_? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He looks away from her, suddenly seeming very interested in his own hands. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was taking advantage of you, I guess.”

“That makes no sense!”

“It wasn’t fair,” he says quietly. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to get to act on your own feelings for once. And not—just ‘cause you’re _scared_ or whatever, I mean. And if being your friend really was helping you, then the last thing I’d want to do is take that away from you.”

Well, that’s a pleasant thought, and all very nice, but…

“You were scared,” she surmises. “Scared I’d reject you?”

He turns back to her, scandalized. “I’m not scared of anything!”

But he _has_ been scared. He was scared for her on Namthi Beach. Scared when she woke up here, after all those long days of unconsciousness. Maybe even before that. Maybe even _now_.

And she never once doubted that he would be there. Not _really_.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and, dammit, her eyes are stinging _again_.

His gaze softens. “I don’t want you to thank me for caring about you, you know.”

“But I appreciate it. More than you know.”

“No,” he says. “I know. Trust me. I know...you don’t really see it, but you do a lot for me too. As much as I was your first friend, you were my second.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to take out of a statement like that, but she’s _tired_ , and the words are out of her mouth before she can even think to hold them back: “Then I can be the first _girl_ friend, right?”

If it surprises him, though, it doesn’t show. Instead he just smiles and shakes his head in that way he always does when she says something he thinks is stupid—but endearing, at least.

“If that’s what you want,” he finally says. “But probably better to leave that for morning, when you’re a little more awake.”

She can’t really contest that, when she’s barely able to keep her eyes open.

But she _does_ know this, so she says, “My answer wouldn’t change in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“I do—” She cuts herself off with a large yawn before trying again: “I love you too.”

His hand comes up and brushes against her face. He is always so warm, a welcome rival to the ice that trails through her blood.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah, I know.”

And she thinks he really does.

His hand falls away; there is a small creak as the mattress lightens and he gets to his feet. He turns to look at her again. For a moment, he just watches her.

And then he leans down and drops a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes droop; they will not open up again, even as he murmurs, “Good night, Nerissa,” and makes his way across the room.

She _tries_ to respond, but it’s no good. He doesn’t seem to be expecting it anyway. She hears the door pull all the way open again, and then—

“ _Díurmíe bíon._ _Te émíe_.”

The door closes behind him. Even in his absence, his warmth remains, settled next to Nerissa’s heart.

For the first time in quite a while, she falls asleep with a smile on her face.

**Author's Note:**

> translations!
> 
> te émíe = i love you (obviously)
> 
> élo = hello
> 
> bíono dío = good afternoon/day
> 
> cómm éstíulo ? = how are you?
> 
> díurmíe bíon = sleep well
> 
> no te aboníe = i won’t leave you
> 
> nesitas comaner si disas estiar sánto de níuvé = you need to eat if you want get better
> 
> (i think thats all????)
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> if you're interested in learning more about or reading my novel series, i post all info on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) and tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)! feel free to find me for general writing updates too; i also sometimes take fic requests on both platforms!


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